Wounded Soul Knows No Colors

‎"Our history is made of pain and never ending struggle. 
So no, we don't know how to draw a rainbow. Wounded soul knows no colors."

I was browsing through my Facebook newsfeed stream the other day, when accidentally casting a glance to the right part of the screen. I saw the words and thought, whose words are they? So dark and gloomy. And then I saw the explanation below it; said that on that day one year ago, I posted that words in my status.

At first, I was surprised by how strange and distant the words sounded to me, even if it's only one year ago. Then within seconds everything came back to me, the memories, the feeling, the pain. They seemed to be familiar now. 

I wrote the words for someone who has gone through tough times, together with me. I wrote the words in my status box  because I wanted to tell her that it's okay if we're being misunderstood. It's okay if the clouds we're carrying above our head confuse people around us, as much as they confuse us. That's just how it is supposed to be. That's just how we are supposed to be in such times. Misunderstood. 

I wrote the words because I wanted to tell her that I am the one who understands the trouble and the pain she has gone through, as much as she understands mine. I am the one who understands the wound that carved deep within her heart through all the years, as much as she understands mine. I am the one who understands the reasons behind the grey clouds hovering on her life, as much as she understands mine. 

I wanted to tell her that no one, no one else, will be able to understand what we've gone through and that's just the way it is. I wanted to tell her to accept that and live with it, with an open heart. Misunderstood and wounded as we are. The sky is grey now. So we might as well sit and appreciate it rather than desperately paint a broken rainbow. 

But I never told her. All the things I wanted to say. I never told her that. I just didn't have the courage to do so. The wound that we have, it's not something we easily discuss openly, without having to feel how mess our lives are. I think we've been pretending that we're over and done with it. That what happened in the past remained in the past. That we are not carrying our anger within our hearts, walking like a zombie throughout our lives afterwards. We're keeping the wound, rotten in our hearts, thinking that moving ahead and never look back will help us heal. 

I know we never really are.

I posted the words in my status box that day with a hope that she'd read it (she'd read it I'm sure) and understand the meaning behind the words. I could never tell her. 

Honestly, I don't know whether I need to thank Facebook for reminding me about those words. It brought unpleasant memories. But the strange and distant feeling I got when I read it again for the first time after a year, is a sign that I've changed. Right now, I couldn't picture myself posting such words again in my status box. 

I hate to say that I don't know what happen. And to say that I'm much more positive about my life now is probably a bit of an overstatement. Or perhaps I'm just scared that things will start taking the difficult turn again. That's that. I don't know. 

One thing I know is I've learned that embracing the darkness has helped me to get through most of the tough times. I never tried to paint that broken rainbow people had been suggesting me to do all the while back then. I walked with my grey clouds, with the thought that one day when it's time for them to go, I'd be able to sincerely thank them for spending the time with me. And I know I'm preparing for a goodbye to my grey clouds now. I can feel it. 

Bintaro, 10.15 pm

I know she's not okay right now. I wrote this for her, and I'm pretty sure she won't read it. Just like many other things I couldn't tell her back then, this, I can't tell her too.